


untitled

by marshmallowdeanie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Big Brother Dean, College AU, M/M, a cute scenario but i dont really know why i wrote it, castiel is a nerd, idk - Freeform, if you can't handle the mention of puke don't read, kevin's a frat boy, lots of dean taking care of cas drunk, reckless drinking, sorta fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 14:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2776406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowdeanie/pseuds/marshmallowdeanie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gets wicked drunk and Dean takes him home. They don't have sex though and there's a lot of puking. Castiel needs lots of love. Dean is really cute about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	untitled

 

Castiel took a jell-o shot from his big brother once.

 

It was like a cold, slimy, dose of cherry cough syrup. He only swallowed the one that he was offered so that he didn't look uncool. Then he made a face when his brother looked away and hadn't tried them since. He was fifteen. Now, Castiel was 18 and he'd just gotten the first C+ of his life on his mathematics 102 final exam.

He was in Alpha Sig's frat house scooping up and cradling as many jell-o shots as he could possibly hold in his arms and trying to ignore the shortness of breath he was experiencing while being mashed between all the people in the living room who seemed never to stop moving. He'd probably have elbow-sized bruises like patches all over his ribs tomorrow.

Castiel did not belong to Αlpha Sigma Phi. Castiel's friend Kevin whom he'd met at freshman orientation was a frat brother there. He was the one who convinced Castiel to come to the party. You can't get past the stoop without name-dropping a brother at an end-of-semester party like this. Subsequently, Kevin was nowhere to be found in the fray of the house. Castiel didn't plan on staying, anyway. He just wanted to get as many of the jell-os in his pockets and sleeves as he could and get the hell outta Dodge--he was too sober for this shit--but as he was trying and failing to get closer to the door, a guy stopped him whom Castiel didn't know, but he had an 'AΣΦ ' sweatshirt on and seemed pretty stoked, much like everybody else around him.

 

"Hey man, where ya goin'? It's like ten thirty. We've got another keg coming in like an hour, I swear," he said, seeming to block Castiel's way to the door. That was the trouble with these parties. They didn't want anyone to leave, because if the campus security started noticing all the drunk kids walking home or loitering around the frat, the Alpha Sig guys would get busted hard.

 

"I don't drink beer. I just need some air," Castiel said, hoping the lanky white guy in front of him would slither back to whatever gross corner he came from.

 

"You gotta puke? We got a bathroom for that," he said more urgently.

 

Castiel shook his head, "NO! I'm not drunk. I haven't even had a drink. Just let me go," It was true. He'd only gotten here a half hour prior.

The frat brother gave him a look and because he probably didn't want some kid spreading rumors about how Alpha Sig's can't throw parties, he said, "Dude! We got you covered if it's liquor you want. Come on in the kitchen--want a Screwdriver?!"

 

Reluctantly and only because he wanted to get too wasted to feel anything, Castiel followed the airheaded guy into what Castiel supposed was a kitchenette.

He tried to remember what a 'Screwdriver' was. Some kind of mixed drink. But Castiel never drank. In fact, the only reason he was here at all was because he hated himself. He hated himself so fucking much for choosing to take a nap the night before his final exam instead of continuing to study. Kevin got an A on his own exam, and Castiel's tummy burned with resentment for his friend. Kevin and just about every one of his roommates took adderall nearly every day for the past two weeks in order to study for their finals. Who knew where they got it from, but no matter how many times Kevin offered it to him, Castiel refused. He thought it was sort of cheating. Plus, what if they were buying it off of a drug dealer? What if it was laced or something? Castiel didn't want to take his chances. Now, though, he wished he had.

Random frat brother #1 handed Castiel a red plastic solo cup filled nearly to the brim with a murky orange beverage. "Bottoms up, my friend!" he told Castiel with a shit-eating grin, chugging his own identical drink much to Castiel's chagrin, not to mention the exasperated looks of disgust from two nearby girls. Castiel took a small, timid, gulp of his drink. It was orange juice. Well, orange juice and something.

Castiel looked around and watched someone pour half a cup of orange juice and then even it out with a clear liquid. The front of the bottle was unfamiliar to him, but if he squinted he could read 'vo' just barely. 'Vodka'.

Good, Castiel thought as he leaned against a cupboard. It was less crowded here than in the living room, where a sea of bodies moved to some obscenely loud rap song.

Castiel refilled his own cup the same way that he'd watched someone else do it, and then, jell-o shots forgotten, tasted a little bit of the straight vodka from his cup before adding the orange juice.

His throat burned and he made a noise deep in his throat, repulsed. He'd never tasted something so awful in his life. Even his noise burned a little, and it felt almost as if his stomach thought about kicking the stuff back up. He kept it down, though, and instead of mixing the vodka with the orange juice, he put them in two separate cups, alternating between taking a big sip of the liquor and chasing it down with the orange juice. It was much more convenient than pouring shots, and besides, he wasn't even sure there were any shot glasses around here to be had.

He watched people come in and out of the tiny kitchen. It looked like a tornado had ripped threw it; bottle, lids, cups, and food was littered on every surface. On any given day of the week it would probably give Castiel anxiety just looking at such a huge mess, but right now his face was beginning to feel strangely hot. It felt like someone had spun a top behind his eyes, in his head, and now he could feel a vibrating sensation. As he looked around the room, though, his vision didn't spin like they say it does when you're drunk. Castiel resigned to the fact that maybe he just couldn't get drunk. Some people couldn't, right? And it wasn't like he'd ever gotten drunk before, so he had nothing to compare it to. He walked over to the bottle of vodka that wa sitting on the counter, almost half-empty. He hadn't drank all of that, had he? No. Someone else had to have taken some. Yeah--that Alpha Sig guy.

Castiel only filled his red cup half way up. It was getting harder to drink the vodka. After so many sips, it started to feel as if each one he'd taken grew it's own legs and began angrily climbing back up his esophagus.

It donned on Castiel that in Kevin's absence, he knew no one at this party. He was alone. This, he realized, right before turning around a bit unsteadily and being bumped into--hard.

 

"Hey 'bro', what where the hell you're--hey, sorry,"

 

Castiel had to conjure all of the balance he'd ever mustered in his life not to fall over, grabbing any available thing as a handle. He looked up to match the voice to a face and saw a taller, broader, man than him. If this guy was pissed enough, he could definitely snap Castiel in half and blend his entrails into a frozen cocktail. Castiel was drunk now. It seemed like it happened just all at once. He felt fine five minutes ago. Now he couldn't focus his eyes on any one point for too long without feeling like he was leaning sideways.

 

"Fuck, sorry," Castiel half-garbled, surprising himself with the expletive. The deep burning in his throat got worse when he spoke. He took a deep breath and the cool air helped somewhat as he inhaled it.

 

The man looked at him sideways, suspicious. He had sandy blonde hair. It was hard to tell, but Castiel also thought he had green eyes. The lighting was weird and his vision swam too much to determine for sure what color they were. He was sure damn sexy. Castiel had heard that some people were better at talking to guys or girls while drunk, but he just felt like bubbles were coming out of his ears and his tummy burned like a furnace, full of alcohol and juice. There was no way he could hold a conversation.

"Are you alright, buddy...?" the blonde-haired guy asked him. Castiel didn't really notice how loud the music in the other room was until this very moment. He barely heard the guy's words. Somehow the music seemed to throw Castiel away even further from reality, almost like an out of body experience. It was like he was inside of  his own body but not really controlling its movements. He couldn't help but slouch and lean against the counter.

"Yeah...I'm good," he managed to say carefully. He didn't want to sound drunk. It didn't really come out sounding the way he'd imagined.

The guy laughed and moved off to the side rather than the middle of the kitchen floor, indicating that he was going to continue to talk to Castiel.

"You look pretty hammered to me, actually. I'm Dean," the dreamy blonde guy said, sounding to Castiel like he was in a tunnel.

 

"Cas...Cas...tiel," Castiel replied, hiccuping once and breathing in deep again. He'd hold this alcohol--God, if it was the last thing he did.

 

“Cas? Nice,” he said, lifting a bottle to his lips that Castiel hadn’t noticed he’d been holding before. It looked like a beer bottle. He must have brought his own because the frats were too cheap to buy bottled beer. They all went in on kegs.

 

“You’re too old to be in a frat. Y-Youuu a grad student?” Castiel asked, squinty-eyed. It felt like someone was pushing down on his shoulders.

 

Dean laughed a little again. “Nah. My little brother goes here. I just got an apartment in the city to be closer to him,”

 

Castiel just nodded. He loosened his grip on the countertop and pressed the lower part of his back flat to it instead.

 

“Do you go to school here? No way you’e in this lame-o loser club, right?” Dean asked accusingly.

 

“Yes...I do go here...how do _YOU_ _know_? I could be. But I’m not,” he retorted, swaying but controlling himself. He took another drink from his cup, instantly regretting the clear flames as they lapped their way down his throat.

 

“You don’t look like the type. You look like a smart kid, yanno? Not a douche,” Dean said simply, shrugging a shoulder. Castiel tried to get another good look of his face, which was very attractive, but it was hard to see.

 

Castiel started to giggle. He didn’t know what was funny--maybe it was that Dean mentioned he “looked smart”, which was ironic to Castiel considering he’d nearly failed his exam today. Maybe it was because Castiel was beginning to realize how ridiculous it seemed that such a good-looking guy would be talking to him at a party.

 

“I’m in honors college…,” Castiel slurred after he composed himself. Mostly. “but my friend is in this frat...he’s not really a douche…”

 

Castiel thought Dean gave him a concerned look at first before saying, “My brother isn’t either. Most of the time. Hey, how much have you had?” he asked, leaning in close to Castiel’s face and peering over the edge of his unsteady cup.

 

“Not a lot. I don’t know,” Castiel lied. He’d drank his entire first cup, though not much of the one he was holding.

 

“Okay, well I’m cutting you off,” Dean said decidedly, wrapping his hand around Castiel’s cup to take it from him. Their fingers touched, and Dean’s felt very hot against Castiel’s skin.

 

“ _NO_!” Castiel argued, trying to yank his arm away. But the cup fell, and then his ankle was wet. Dean jumped back a little as the cup hit the floor, splashing vodka all around.

 

“My bad,” Castiel muttered as Dean searched for something to wipe it up with.

 

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to get a towel from one of the nasty bathrooms if any of ‘em are unoccupied,” Dean said, setting his beer bottle down and heading back into the other room.

Castiel’s head spun even worse without the distraction of conversation. He could feel his navy blue Sperrys sliding on the slippery floor, and could find nothing to grab onto nor the energy to stop himself from sliding all the way to the floor. He felt the spilled drink sink into his pants and make his thigh all wet with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead, he laughed quietly at himself. Once his chest was against the tile floor, his cheek was next. For a few seconds he stared at people’s feet in the other room. The kitchen was mostly empty. Everyone was pleasantly intoxicated by now, most likely. Castiel felt like he was in a fish bowl. Everything seemed so far away. Even his C+.

 

“Dammit...Cas?” Dean’s voice, drifting into Castiel’s ears from somewhere above. He didn’t move. He smiled at the floor.

“Shit!” Dean cursed under his breath. Then Castiel felt his hands squeeze onto his shoulders.

 

“Hey...Cas, come on, bud. Time to get up off the floor. Come on, you don’t know what kind of gross shit is down there…,” Dean coached, nudging him. Castiel’s body shook as he giggled hard again. “I can’t,” he said through laughter.

 

Dean wasn’t laughing, though. He pursed his lips. Why did he give a shit? He didn’t even go here and he just met Castiel like, what, ten minutes ago? Okay, maybe it was longer than that...jeez, Castiel thought, how long had it been? Time was all fucked up to him.

Suddenly, Dean was leaning over him and heaving him up into a sitting position. He straightened Castiel against the cabinets and proceeded to wipe up as much of the spilled vodka as he could manage. Castiel leaned a little but didn’t fall over.

Dean stood up and reached out to Castiel.

“Cas? Gimme your arms,”

 

“Why?” Castiel asked looking dizzily up at Dean, who seemed like a giant from Castiel’s position on the floor.

 

“So I can get you off the floor, Poindexter,” Dean said, his patience obviously running thin.

Castiel let himself be pulled to his feet, if unsteadily, and he was amazed Dean was able to do it single-handedly. Castiel knew he was thin and generally lithe but Castiel wasn’t even trying to offer any help to Dean. He was limp and heavy, too dizzy to use his limbs effectively.

 

“I’m not that drunk. You don’t have to--,” he shook his head “I’m _fine_ ,” Castiel said as concisely as possible, repositioning himself as he was finally on his feet again.

 

“You can barely stand, Cas,” Dean pointed out, but Castiel tried really hard to force his body to keep steady in an effort to prove Dean wrong.

 

“I don’t even know you, _okay_ , so...so just _piss_ off,” he quipped, starting towards the over-stuffed living room. Dean grabbed his arm.

 

“Cas, if you pass out somewhere in this frat, I guarantee you aren’t going to like what’ll happen,” Dean told him sternly. And for Christ’s sake, what was he, his mother? Castiel attempted to roll his eyes and shake Dean off.

 

“ _What_ are you trying to _do_?” Castiel asked with a little less venom, leaning into the hand Dean used to steady Castiel by the waist.

 

“I want to make sure you get home. Where do you live? A dormitory?” Dean asked. His eyes were indeed green, Castiel mentally confirmed, too exhausted to tell Dean no anymore.

 

“Kevin drove me here,” Castiel spluttered, “my dorm is six blocks away,”

 

“Okay, alright, um--” Dean began, but Castiel cut in.

 

“They aren’t going to let me in without trouble being like _this_ ,”Castiel motioned to himself and wobbled, “was gonna...crash here,” His head was starting to ache a little, feeling empty, and his blood felt too hot under his skin.

 

“Why don’t you crash at my place?” Dean suggested.

 

“Yeah, RIGHT. I-I may be _drrrunk,_ but I barely _know_ you. I’ll take my chances on the frat,” Castiel said animatedly.

 

“Please, Cas. If I leave you here, I won’t sleep,” Dean pleaded, shoving Castiel’s mussed hair away from his sweating forehead.

 

Castiel sighed heavily. What else could he do? Pass out and maybe throw up on a seedy couch in the frat and have the brothers tea-bag him or draw penises on his forehead? Maybe they’d write ‘faggot’ in Sharpie, except they’d laugh because it was true, not because it was funny. And there’s no way he was in a state to walk home. He really should have planned this better. No one told him that getting drunk severely limited your transportation options.

 

“Fine,” he finally told Dean, letting himself be held up by the other man, “but if I don’t like it, I’m getting a cab to my dorm,”

 

Castiel really doubted his ability to operate a phone.

 

Either way, something inside him really trusted Dean, because the last thing that happens is his head rolls onto Dean’s chest.

  
  


The only drunk college boy Dean was expecting to drive home was Sammy. He and his brother had made an agreement that Dean didn’t care if Sam drank, as long as he made sure he had a ride home with somebody sober. The kid was in college, it was going to happen.

 

But the kid spread across his backseat was not Sam.

 

Castiel was probably a freshman, judging by how drunk he was. Dean doubted he’d even drank anything stronger than Kool-Aid before tonight. He kept checking on him via the rearview mirror, but each time Dean looked Cas was still motionless.

He was glad he cut him off. If he’d had anything more to drink, he could have ended up really sick. Like, hospital sick.

 

Dean lived about fifteen minutes from campus. Sam had moved out of his  dormitory and into Dean’s rental a month ago and promised to help with the rent in doing so.

 

As he parked in front of his place, the leather seat in the back creaked.

 

“You alright, Cas? We’re here,” Dean said, but there was no reply.

 

He got out of the driver’s side and opened the back door. Cas’s eyes were closed.

 

“Come on,” Dean said, hooking his arms under Cas’s armpits and pulling him out of the backseat. This woke Castiel up, naturally, which was a good sign.

 

“Mmmeh,”

 

“It’s okay. Are you sick? Do you feel like you might throw up, Cas?” Dean asked, clutching him tightly to keep him up.

 

Without answering Dean’s question, Castiel’s head lolled off to one side and his slender body shuddered.

All of a sudden, he was puking in the road.

 

“At least you waited until I got you out of my car,” Dean remarked, wiping Castiel’s trembling mouth on the kid’s shirt. He could change him and wash his clothes.

 

Dean put one arm around Castiel’s shoulders and the kid held onto his arm for dear life up the stairs to the front door.

 

Once they got inside, he lead Cas to his couch and stretched him out on it, propping up a few throw pillows to keep his head sideways while he looked for a bucket in case more vomit happened.

 

His phone went off in his pocket, and he knew it was Sam before he checked it.

 

‘ ** _Went homme w/ jesS. tomoorrow_** ’

 

Dean knew what he meant.

 

Sam was okay. Jess rarely had anything to drink. Dean had met her before and knew she’d take care of Sam in his...obviously intoxicated state, if need be.

 

Before Dean could breathe a sigh of relief, he could hear Cas moaning from the living room.

 

“Just a sec,” Dean said aloud, snatching the short garbage can from the bathroom and scrambling to set it down beside the couch for Cas. No sooner did he get the can there did Castiel puke again. Dean hated seeing the kid this way--eyes all glossy, blood vessels in his cheeks blown, saliva covering his chin. It was awful.

 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked as Castiel took big gulps of air.

 

He nodded, which wasn’t exactly good enough for Dean, but he looked like he’d stopped shuddering, so he was probably done throwing up, at least for now.

 

Dean left him again to bring back a towel and some of his clean clothes.

 

Undressing someone who’s sleeping is a lot harder than Dean had guessed it would be, but he couldn’t leave Cas in his soiled clothes. Besides, the kid was in slacks and a sweater vest. Even Mr. Rogers couldn’t sleep in that.

 

Dean pulled each of Castiel’s shoes off and lined them up by the door. Then he redressed him is a nice, soft t-shirt (albeit, one that fit much too loosely) and some boxer shorts (even looser), avoiding all of the areas that his gaze so badly wanted to fall on. Okay, he might have taken a gander as Castiel’s butt. It was just there. But he did NOT touch him. That wouldn’t have been okay.

 

Dean covered Castiel with a sheet he’d chosen from his bedroom. The dark-haired boy was asleep and probably going to stay that way until at least noon tomorrow.

 

When Castiel woke up, he could tell that it was early.

 

He didn’t want to be awake, but he was so nauseous he couldn’t stand to lie in his bed anymore.

Except when his eyes flicked open, what surrounded him were not the walls of his dormitory. It was strange, unfamiliar.

 

He turned his head, which was throbbing like he’d slept on a slab of concrete, to look around the living room he was in, only to see a guy asleep sitting up in a recline-able chair, mouth slightly ajar.

 

What the heck was his name again? D...D...something with a D…

 

Dean!

 

Castiel recalled being at the frat house the night before. Then all of the other stuff hit him again. He’d drank a load of vodka, talked to Dean, and then passed out on the floor. He could very vaguely remember puking somewhere in there, too.

 

Oh god, he thought, I’m such a piece of shit...how could I do this?

 

Castiel’s embarrassment was short-lived, though. He was feeling exceedingly more woozy, so he reluctantly sat up on the couch.

 

How was he going to find a bathroom? He was almost positive he was going to throw up in like thirty seconds, and he really, really didn’t want to wake up Dean. That was the last thing, in fact, that he wanted, because he was so embarrassed of himself. After a few minutes of fighting the lump in his throat and shivering because it was so darn cold for some reason, he discovered the bathroom and retreated inside, locking the door in the process.

Castiel knelt down on the floor and hung his head over the toilet, but nothing happened.

 

This was the first time he noticed that he wasn’t wearing the shirt he wore last night, nor the pants or underwear, for that matter. It only mortified him further. Dean had gotten him changed. Like a freaking baby.

 

And why? Why did Dean do all of this for him? He was just some random college kid at a party with probably tons of other kids just like him who were too drunk to go home. What about Castiel made Dean want to play guardian angel with him?

 

Resignedly, Castiel leaned back against the cold bathtub between it and the toilet, wishing he would just vomit already and get it over with. He hated feeling sick.

 

He guessed this was what a hangover felt like.

 

He waited, sitting on the bathroom floor for about ten minutes, and then there was a knock.

 

“Cas? You okay in there?” It was Dean.

 

“Fine,” he answered grudgingly.

 

“Let me know if you need anything. I’m going to put your clothes in the dryer now. I washed them last night,” Dean’s voice said through the door.

 

“Okay,”

 

He heard Dean move away from the door. And, cue vomiting.

  
  


After Castiel cleaned himself up (he splashed some water on his face and swirled some mouthwash from Dean’s bathroom sink around his mouth) he deserted the bathroom and went back to the couch where he’d woken up.

 

Dean had slept in that chair across from the couch where Castiel passed out last night to make sure he would be okay. In fact, he probably stayed awake to make sure he didn’t throw up and choke or anything, but fell asleep in the process. Castiel felt his stomach flutter, but not from his hangover.

 

“Here. It’s ginger ale. Might help a little. But you should probably drink water and Gatorade today and tomorrow...you, uh, you pretty much emptied out your stomach,” Dean said, appearing apparently while Castiel had zoned out.

 

He drank the ginger ale from a yellow mug slowly, wondering if he stomach would reject it. But luckily, he was starting to feel a little less disgusted than before.

 

“Sorry about the clothes. Yours were done for and me and Sam aren’t exactly the slightest of figures,” Dean added when Castiel did not reply.

 

But Castiel stood up and gave Dean a gingerly hug.

 

“Thanks. I don’t know why you did this for me,” Castiel sighed, smiling but still feeling immensely embarrassed and childish.

A few seconds passed when Dean tried to decide what to say back.

 

“Long story short, me and my little brother have rules. I’d never leave him stranded and wasted at a party. I guess you sort of reminded me of him when he was a freshman,” Dean said with understanding and sympathy.

 

“I’m sorry about puking...I barely remember coming here,” Castiel admitted, looking down at the carpet. Why did Dean have to be stupidly hot AND caring?

 

“It’s okay,” Dean said soothingly.

 

Castiel lifted his head again to smile a crooked smile.

 

“I got carried away because I got a bad grade on one of my finals. I’m supposed to keep a certain GPA for honors and to maintain my scholarships...but I’m on the verge of losing them now,” Castiel explained with distress.

 

“I don’t know if saying this will mean anything, Cas, but grades aren’t everything. If you’re in honors, you’re obviously a great student. Every normal person gets a bad grade here and there--for me it was a hell of a lot more frequent than ‘here and there’--but you get what I mean. No need to kill yourself over it...or drink yourself into a coma,” Dean shrugged.

 

“I didn’t know how to handle it, I guess,” Castiel confessed quietly, looking into his mug.

 

“You gotta be more careful, alright?”

 

Castiel smiled a little and quirked an eyebrow, “I promise. Can I have some sort of pain killer? My head feels like the San Andreas fault…,”

 

“Oh sure, sure,” Dean replied.

 

He returned from his bathroom hastily and dropped two white pills into Castiel’s hand.

 

“Did you happen to use my mouthwash?” Dean asked slowly, eyes flickering to Castiel’s.

 

Castiel was a little confused. “Uh, yes. I hope that was okay,”

 

“Good,” Dean said, leaning in quickly to kiss Castiel on the lips.

  
Castiel couldn’t have been any more surprised.


End file.
